Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real


[sticky post]Audience Hall

Welcome.  Thanks for taking the time to stop by, and pardon the dust.  I haven't gotten around to cleaning up in quite some time.

I used to write quite a bit here, back in a time when blogs and bloggers were less bloggy, and social networks were less obtrusive.  I wanted to write, but was still learning how to express.  The journal seemed like a perfect solution for holding my odd and scattered thoughts about my odd and scattered life, and for maintaining contact with familiar souls. 

Summer turns to Fall.  Of the blooms that thrived here, all but the hardiest have withered away.  I write more regularly now, but my focus is in fiction - well, fictions other than the one I live.  And so I have mostly uprooted and moved to other haunts, and left this place to the applause of dust and the practical requiems of spiders.  

But I'm still fond of it, you know, and I check in regularly, so comment if you need to get my attention. And there are other places to find me as well.  

Ehaema.  A very strange novel, written serially from Feb 2012 to Mar 2013. 

Baofu's Lair.  Meditations on gaming and interactive media. 

Eidolon.  Not so much writing, more of an inspiration collage and notebook.

Box of Smoove Jams: 
fulldamage"s Profile Page

Cheers from the past.  Surprise me in the future. 




Just realized...

... that my "Audience Hall" top post, which I set for Dec 21, 2012 - a date that was many years in the future, at the time - is almost here.  I'll have to fling it another little ways into the future. 

Looking back at where I was then, I think that I'd have been excited to know where I'd be about now.  For all my doubts, fears, and worries, I keep making progress in the right directions.  

Not much writing going on in this journal lately, for my part.  The best of my journal acquaintances have long since fled, though I do check in regularly to see who's still around and how they're doing.  

But I am writing.  Every day.  Here's where to look, if you're of a mind to do so.

Ehaema - A Very Strange Novel (written serially, scheduled to end March 2013)
Ehaema - LJ feed
Eidolon - Notes and images for inspiration.  My internet-brain unedited.
Baofu's Lair - Musings on gaming and interactive media.  The record of comment discussions was mostly erased during the Destructoid site update, but hopefully they'll be resurrected in the not-too-distant future.

Cheers to you who might find this message in a bottle, washed up on the shore in your where, somewhen. You know where to find me. 


Not exactly earth-shattering fame and fortune...

Forever In My Heart, Daniel Potal via 1x

But seeing a review on my stuff...

... and then looking at the main page, to see myself listed with a bunch of authors I adore, whose company I absolutely don't deserve to be in... 

... well, that's quite a kick in the pants, that is.  ^_^

Guess I better keep at it then.  Happy weekending and happy weekbeginning, space cadets.  


Can't Stop Won't Stop

Kuggen building in Gothenburg, via Design You Trust

Continuing the microfiction (which is sneakily looking more and more like macrofiction, or just plain old writing) barrage.  One a day, every weekday, with supplemental material on weekends.  It's becoming a more natural effort - I feel tense before I actually get in there and hammer something out, and inordinately self-satisfied afterwards.  

It's the same principle by which those japanese "train novels" get written - commuters punching in an entry on their little smartphones every commute, until finally something begins to take shape.  

Been stupidly busy as well - hardly any time for gaming lately! - but I think it is all stuff that will pay off in one way or another, down the line.

Also contains the occasional strange picture or music, for the reading-impaired.  ^_^  Selah. 

Hello?  Navi?

Crossposter fail

Okay, the crossposting method I was using to copy my microfiction blog posts to this account is just full of lame and suck, in no particular order.  I'm disabling it.  For those of you who like to find this sort of thing in your LJ-feed rather than your RSS reader, I've prepared a feed for you:


You can go ahead and add it to your friends lists if you're so inclined!  This has the disadvantage of me probably not reading your comments in that feed right away, if you choose to leave them there - but otherwise I've had to check this journal every single day to see whether or not a post went through, and copying it over if it didn't - just too much of a pain in the arse.  Mea culpa.  


Heart of the Twilight

“I saw,” he replied, after an ocean of silence.

“Kris?  Hey buddy.”  Snap-snap of the fingers.  “Hey, are you okay?”

“I saw it," he repeated.  “Almost there.”

“Help me get him up,” the tiny shadow muttered, and the hulking shadow, still laughing, roused itself to approach.  But Kris seized her wrist with a grip that was surprisingly strong for an instant, before softening gradually.

“Almost there.  The Last City.  In the heart of the Twilight.  Potential.  I was … I was so... but I couldn’t...”

His eyes closed, and they helped him to bed. 


Glass everywhere

The tall shadow shifts, and the only forewarning they have is the sudden hint of shifting light. Like a dying timber, Kris lists forward and through the glass coffee table immediately in front of him, landing with a loud crash in a boneless heap, face first onto the floor.  A rag flutters to the earth like some broken butterfly.  There is a chorus of gasps, one high-pitched micro-shriek, and a rumbling good-natured laugh.

“Oh shit.”

“Is he okay?”

“Be fucking careful - careful, there’s glass everywhere.”

“Somebody put that can of Black Jack away for now.”  

A tiny shadow detached itself from the arm of a dilapidated couch and curled up next to the fallen one.  “Kris?  Kris, are you in there?  Are you here?”


[Ehaema] Tangible

For a glorious instant, the crystal path stretches out before him, carrying thoughts made tangible, memories without origin, all the strange denizens of the horizon beyond the horizon, moving towards the hub at the center of all things.

It is so close, but the currents are too fast, he's moving too fast, the tide of events is pushing too hard and there is no control.

The light of the line dancer hesitates, and in hesitating is lost. The wave function collapses. And in less than an eyeblink, the crystal path shatters all around him and the dark heart beats just once. It expands so rapidly that it slams into him, crushing him mercilessly, a mite caught in god's eyelash, blinked and gone.



In the black light, the girl looks fey enough, shaven-headed and sharp featured with teeth glinting bright and blue.  She dances with the line of light, deftly manipulating the electroluminescent coil with the lightest touch, keeping it aloft with subtle gyrations as it leaps over her head and through her legs to coil around her, a gyre under her absolute control.

Many shadows are her audience, one hulking, some tall, others tiny, all quiet and rapt.  A ghetto blaster in the corner shakes the air with electronic promises, and smoke dragons writhe in time with nearly imperceptible currents.  When a voice finally makes itself heard above the muted din, it sounds as though it is coming from a long distance away.

“Breathe.  Take a breath.  Kris.  Breathe.


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